


i spy...

by OnyxSphinx



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - James Bond Fusion, Getting Together, Ish?? - Freeform, M/M, ppd/ec stands for pan pacific digital/espionage corp, they make electronics........BUT THEY'RE ALSO SPIES, this is so silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23389363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: Newt kind of has a crush on the new Q—sorry,Doctor Gottlieb
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Comments: 1
Kudos: 28





	i spy...

“Agent Geiszler.”

Newt turns around; takes in the man who’s spoken. He’s tall—a good few inches taller than Newt, probably, but he’s got terrible posture, so he’s only a bit taller right now. He’s wearing an honestly awful cardigan. 

He frowns; he doesn’t recognise the man, and that’s saying something—he knows nearly everyone in the agency. “Oh, hey—sorry, do I know you?” he asks. “Are you a new intern, or something?”

The man scowls; the lines digging into his face. “No,” he snaps. “I’m the new head of K-Science, as the memo I sent out _last week_ should have informed you.” There’s a sharpness to his voice; judgement. Newt doesn’t like him.

“Well, I was a bit out of it last week,” he shrugs; he doesn’t like this dude, but he doesn’t particularly want to get on his bad side—he _is_ K-Sci’s head.

“That’s hardly an excuse.”

Newt huffs. “Look, _dude_ ,” and, yeah, his voice is _definitely_ confrontational now. “I was busy being in a _coma_ and fighting off leukaemia. I think that’s a perfectly acceptable _excuse_.” There’s a dig there, definitely; and he only makes it worse when he adds, “anyway, you look a bit…”

“ _Young?_ ” the man bites; and his grip on the cane is tighter, now; his lips set at an angry angle. “I _assure_ you, agent, age is no guarantee of inefficiency—after all, you are younger than I, and already a double-oh agent.”

Newt could walk off now. He could—“Is that a hint of _praise_ I hear?” 

The other inhales sharply. “Given you’ve yet to manage to return a single piece of equipment intact, I should think it is _not_ ,” he bites.

The room is oddly warm. Newt’s pretty sure that the thermostat is cranked up, which is weird, because the lower levels, where K-Science is, are always cold. “Hey, man, no need to get snappy!” he says, instead of mentioning it. “And for the record, I’ll have you know that all of my missions have ended in resounding success!”

The other hums. “Perhaps the only reason you haven’t been fired yet,” he allows; but it’s definitely a backhanded compliment. “Though the PPD/EC must be getting truly desperate if they believe _you_ make a _good_ agent.”

“Well, not as desperate as when they hired _you_ ,” Newt shoots back.

“Oh, trust me, Geiszler, I can do more damage with my laptop before I’ve had my morning tea than you can in a year in the field. Regardless,” he says; and crosses the room, setting the case he’s got in his other hand down, “now is not the time for small talk. I’ve come to deliver your equipment for the next mission, and the window of time we have is closing quickly.”

Newt takes a step forward; opens the case.

For a moment, he’s silent. Then: “Is this some sort of _joke_ , Q?” he asks; voice tipping high. 

“Don’t call me _Q—_ ” the other snaps.

“Well, what _else_ am I supposed to call you?” Newt asks; rolling his eyes. They _always_ go by Q—Newt’s pretty sure that the K-Sci people have some sort of weird love of keeping mystery. Like, yeah, sure, they’re in the _agency_ , but come _on_.

“ _Doctor Gottlieb_ will do just fine,” the other huffs.

Newt raises a brow, but continues. “Are you pulling my _leg_ , Doc _?_ ” he asks, again. “A—a radio and a _gun?_ ”

“If you’ll allow me to _continue_ ,” Gottlieb bites, “I’ll explain that momentarily—”

Newt snaps the lid of the case down. “Well, go ahead,” he says, “I’d _love_ to hear the explanation for _this_ one.”

“The _gun_ ,” Gottlieb says, and opens the case again; pulls out the gun; “is coded with your palm-print; anyone else trying to fire it will end up with a useless piece of metal—safety measures, you understand; the amount of agents who get shot with their own guns is both alarming and sad—” there, he stops; Newt gets a distinct impression of how he feels about _that_ —“now, the radio doubles as a tracker, and allows you to broadcast a distress signal—even if it’s buried under fifty tons of concrete at the bottom of the ocean, the signal will remain for seventy-two hours.”

There’s a smugness to that; his own invention, maybe; and Newt, actually, is…kind of impressed by that. Still, Newt can’t help but ask, “What, no exploding pen? I’m disappointed.”

“I’m afraid we’ve, to use the colloquial, _burnt the bridge_ with those,” Gottlieb says.

“That’s…that’s not how you use that phrase,” Newt tries; but Gottlieb makes a dismissive gesture with his hand; pushes the case towards him.

“Good luck, agent,” he says, “off you go.” 

And with that, he strides off, leaving Newt alone with the case and the ghost of a British accent.

* * *

The mission goes swimmingly, and by that, Newt means he nearly dies twice, gets impaled through the shoulder with a fucking _javelin_ , isn’t shot with his own gun, thanks, Gottlieb, and gets back needing multiple stitches.

“I see you’ve kept up your track record of destroying the multi-multi-figure, bleeding-edge prototypes we spend hours working on,” is the first thing Gottlieb says when Newt walks into his workspace.

Newt scowls; hops up onto one of the desks, just because he _can_ , and because he’s pretty sure it’ll make Gottlieb’s lip curl, and, yep, Hermann does that exactly, which is…

His heart does a stupid little thing; flipping over itself and clenching. He clears his throat a few times. “I have a reputation to keep up,” he tries, feebly, “anyway, I got the job done, so,” he shrugs a shoulder.

“Mm,” Gottlieb hums. “Well, is there something you wanted, or…?”

“Uh,” Newt says; and, yeah, no, actually. He doesn’t. Fuck. “Can’t I just hang around?” 

“Mm,” Gottlieb hums. “Well, if you must be here, then you could at least get me a cuppa.”

“What am I, your errand-boy?” Newt snipes; but there’s not much bite to it, and he hops off the desk; goes over to the electric kettle. There’s a frightening number of empty mugs there, and Newt grabs one and rinses it out in the sink.

It takes a bit to find any tea, but he manages it in the end, and pours the boiling water over it, watching the steam rise out of the mug for a moment before he goes back over to Gottlieb’s desk and sets it down.

Gottlieb looks up; eyes widening. “You…?” he trails off, obviously surprised.

“What, you thought I couldn’t make tea?” Newt huffs.

“No, no, not—” Gottlieb’s lips purse. “Nevermind,” he says, stiffly, “ah. Thank you, Agent 007. Geiszler.” He’s looking up at Newt, now; he’s got brown eyes, Newt notices, a bit darker than the colour of his hair, and, set against his pale skin, they look even darker; the pupils almost blending into the iris.

Newt swallows instinctively, and Gottlieb’s gaze flicks to follow the motion before it darts back up to meet his eyes. His tongue darts out to wet thin, pink lips.

“Is it warm in here?” Newt squeaks.

“Normally, yes,” Gottlieb replies; picks up the mug and takes a sip. His ears are tinged pink. “I, ah, I keep it warm so my leg doesn’t ache, but the thermostat broke yesterday, so it’s been set to room temperature.”

“Okay,” Newt says, a bit breathless.

He’s staring at Gottlieb, he realises, and ducks his head; fixing his gaze on the floor. 

“You, ah, you make tea better than any of the underlings,” Gottlieb says, and Newt looks back up; meets his gaze again. “Perhaps you…could make me tea again?”

Newt’s mouth is drier than the desert. “S—sounds great,” he croaks. “Yeah, I’ll—uh, I’ll make you tea. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Gottlieb says.

“Great,” Newt exhales sharply. “Uh. See you tomorrow, then, Gottlieb.” He turns to leave; stops and turns around at Gottlieb’s voice.

“Hermann,” says Gottlieb. “You can call me Hermann.”

Newt grins. “Great,” he says, “see you tomorrow, then, Gottlieb.”

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [autisticharrow](https://autisticharrow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
